I was woken early by a phone call, but put my time to good use and got on with my script, which seems to be coming together well. The problem for this first one is that I have way too much material for the Hitler Moustache half hour (in fact 27 minutes), but it was good to get it underway.
I took a break to run up the hill with £300 in coins to pay into the bank, which frankly almost killed me. It's late in the Fringe and even in spite of my healthy lifestyle I am too weary for the steep inclines of this beautiful town. And I was bearing a heavy load. Annoyingly after all this effort the coin machine wasn't working, so I had to take the money home again.
I must be ready to come home as I got out my sat nav to check how long the journey home was (7 hours 56 according to the device, but only if I didn't stop or hit any traffic - it's going to take me all of Tuesday to get back to the place where my heart lies) and even thought about starting to pack. There were five shows left, but it felt like there's been five shows to go for quite a while and I wondered if someone was secretly adding new gigs when I wasn't looking. Five doesn't sound like too many, but tonight, with fatigue hitting me badly it felt like a hundred. I had to drag myself up the hill to the Assembly Rooms, leaving my departure later than ever and arriving at about 20 minutes before show time. None of this ennui is going to stop me doing the best show I can and part of the reason that I feel so pooped is because the energetic nature of the performance drains me. There were enough in to make the show fun, but it's hard not to notice that numbers are diminishing and it takes even more effort to ignore that and concentrate on the job in hand. I think I did OK. No one ripped up their programme in disgust at least.
Some friends had been in and I sat and drank a bottle of water with them, whilst they enjoyed somewhat stronger beverages. But I can't imagine how I would be feeling now if I had been drinking, as I could scarcely keep my eyes open and had to absent myself after just half an hour.
Perhaps it has been a mistake not to take a day off this year, but I generally find that they just make me more tired, and I just spend the day sleeping and the show is actually worse the next day. But this year has given me very little room to breathe. I am not complaining about my job (as some people on Twitter chose to interpret my remarks), which I clearly love very much or I wouldn't do it, but I am pushing myself and September isn't looking any less intense. It's hard when you're self-employed to turn down work and it's not surprising that doing 32 gigs in the last 21 days has left me punch drunk and a little bit blue. And the five (now four) remaining are like the little steep hill that leads up to the Stand comedy club, still rather daunting, especially if you're carrying baggage.
But if you come to see me in the last four days (and please do) I will be giving my all on stage. It may seem like I only have to work an hour a day, but it's a little more complicated than that.
I have had a very successful Fringe and a brilliant year and I know how lucky I am to be getting all this work as well as big audiences (and the numbers I am getting in this difficult final week would be the envy of nearly every other comedian in the city), but I am just trying to explain to you that being a comedian is the hardest and loneliest job in the world, much more difficult than being a soldier or a fireman or an astronaut. After a year where I have spent an awful lot of time on the road I am very much looking forward to getting home.
